


Amenities

by Anonymous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Arthur Ketch Being an Asshole, Bondage, Dean Winchester to the Rescue, Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Kidnapped Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sounding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:20:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28171560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: "Oh, I do love an angel."
Relationships: Castiel/Arthur Ketch
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34
Collections: Supernatural Anon Kink Meme





	Amenities

Ketch waits until he’s sure the sedative has worn off, and then he enters the basement dungeon, making sure his footsteps are heard as he descends the stairs. The door creaks as he opens it, and he flips on the light.

The angel is naked in the center of the room, chains binding its arms above its head, pulling tight, taut. Its toes hang above the ground. It snarls when it sees Ketch.

“Let me go,” it growls, guttural and animalistic. Ketch is sure, were it not for the Enochian sigils burned into the handcuffs, its eyes would be glowing. Thankfully, the R&D department has been studying angels for years. Binding one takes nothing more than a few unique sigils.

Ketch doesn’t respond. He stands and watches, eyes tracing over the body. It’s a shame the angel keeps such a muscular form under all that clothing. Naked, its skin is tan, nearly glowing. Just the sight makes Ketch’s cock start to harden in his pants.

Next to the angel is a metal surgical table. Ketch approaches it and drops a bag on top of it. The angel continues to struggle, legs kicking wildly. Its shoulders are strained — if it continues, it will manage to dislocate them all on its own.

“Release me,” it says, “and I’ll convince Dean not to kill you.”

At that, Ketch scoffs. He grins leerily at the angel, smiling. He shakes his head. “Oh, halo, with the threats already? You better get any hope of a rescue out of your head now; we’re in a very discrete location, far away from the Winchesters’ bunker, even farther away from the base of my own chapter. From the way I hear it, disappearing is a habit of yours. By the time Dean notices you’re missing, I assure you, he’ll have no reason to suspect me.”

The angel continues to glare, lips curled above its teeth in a snarl. Then, it swallows. Ketch sees the barest glint of fear in its eyes.

“Why am I here?”

Ketch chuckles. “I told you, didn’t I? I always enjoy an angel.”

Ketch opens the bag, nearly giddy at the assortment before him. First he grabs a blue ball gag, dark like the ocean. Ketch turns. At the sight of it, the angel clamps its jaw shut tight, but all Ketch has to do is utter a simple spell, and the angel is not in control of its own body. The jaw unhinges just enough for Ketch to shove the rubber inside. It’s large enough that it will never be comfortable, and Ketch is sure to tuck it behind the angel’s teeth before he secures it behind its head, pulling it as tight as possible.

The angel’s eyes are lit with pain. Ketch’s cock twitches again. He pats the angel’s cheek. “I made sure to get one that matches your eyes,” he comments, reaching for the bag again. He lays it out the table so the angel can see what’s coming for it: a cock cage with a sound built in, a large, fat vibrator, and a bottle of gel, lightly orange tinted.

The angel continues to struggle, and it ends up spinning in a comical circle. But it’s getting tired; Ketch can see it, in its eyes, in the fatigue of its muscles.

Ketch picks up the sound and cock cage. He rubs the orange gel on it, enough that the device will insert easily, but not enough that it won’t hurt going in. The sound is a quarter inch thick.

Ketch grabs the angel’s limp cock in a crushing grip. A scream is muffled into the gag.

“I love those sounds,” Ketch says, heat pooling into his gut. “Keep on making them, halo.” He lines up the head of the angel’s cock with the tip of the sound and pushes it in. The angel’s head arches back, another scream suffocated. The angel tries to jerk away, but with the bindings, it’s weak, and Kech is strong. Ketch pushes it in, licking his lips as the angel’s cock swallows the thick rod.

“You might have noticed this smarts quite a bit,” Ketch says, not meeting the angel’s eye; he continues to watch the member taking the sound centimeter by centimeter, until it starts to swell and redden, and then it reaches the end. Ketch snaps the cage around it and lets go. It rests against the angel’s thigh. “That would probably be this,” he gestures to the gel bottle. “Lubricant heated up with holy fire. And all the devices are made from recycled angel blades.”

The angel’s eyes close and it whines, a pitiful, pained sound, that makes Ketch want to shove himself into that tight heat right now. He resits. He has self-control.

“Yes,” Ketch continues, “the device inside you right now was once an angel blade. That one too,” he points to the vibrator, all alone on the table. “That’s for the later, though.”

Ketch walks so he’s behind the angel. He pulls the angel’s asscheeks apart with his hands and studies the hole with a surgical eye. He knows it’s going to be hot and tight — he has to unbutton his pants right then, because they can’t hold his cock back anymore. His erection springs free, and he sighs.

“Can’t waste anymore time,” he says, wetting his fingers with the lubricant. He does not hesitate. He sticks one finger straight into that hole, forcing it all the way in to the last knuckle. The angel jerks, balks, cries. Ketch twists his finger around, pulls it out, shoves it back in. He pumps it in, twice, thrice, then adds a second finger without any preamble. The angel starts to cry, and Ketch licks them off its cheeks. He gets the angel as open as he needs him, and then he removes his fingers, lines the head of his cock with that hole. The angel shudders.

“I’ve been dreaming of this ever since I first laid eyes on you,” Ketch says, then he presses in.

The angel howls, this time loud enough it can be heard despite the gag. It yanks, tugs at the chains, which rattle above its head, making an obscene amount of noise that only arouses Ketch more. He pushes in deeper, inch by inch, and manages to keep the angel still with his arms, wrapping around its chest.

“Keep squirming,” Ketch says, “it only makes me harder.” Another inch. He watches himself disappear into that channel. “You are the catch of the century. Dean Winchester’s angel, helpless at my mercy.” He bottoms out, pants, waits there for a moment, just enjoying the feeling of the angel wrapped around him, hotter and tighter than Ketch ever imagined. Perhaps the angel has realized the futility of the situation now, because it doesn’t try to fight. It lets itself hang there, with Ketch inside him, and it cries softly. Ketch rocks his hips, pulls out a little. He bites the angel’s ear as he slams back in. In and out, in and out, as he finds a rhythm. The burn of skin on skin is wonderful. He digs his nails into the angel’s chest, continues to bite at its ears and neck, until finally, he comes, sinking his teeth into the angel’s shoulder.

He waits there for a moment, coming down from his high. Eventually, his cock slips out, and Ketch sighs. Oh, the limitations of man. Were he capable, he’d shove himself straight back into that sweet, glorious heat. He’d do this for hours on end.

Ketch goes back to the table and picks up the vibrator. He does not put any lubricant on it. He shoves it into the angel’s hole, making sure to be rough. It sticks halfway through, and he pushes it through the stoppage. A broken sob fills the air. Ketch pushes it all the way in, until the flared end rests between the angel’s cheeks.

“There we go,” Ketch says, grinning at the sight. In just a few hours, he’ll be ready for another round, and he’s looking forward to it. “Every hole filled, just like you were meant to be.”

He snaps a few photos on his phone, then uses an app to turn the vibrator on. The angel jerks, starts twisting again, sobbing. Its face and eyes are red, cheeks tear-stained. Ketch turns the vibrator to its highest setting. He kisses the angel’s forehead. “This is what you are now,” he says, nudging his nose against the angel’s. “Just a hole for me to use; never not filled. I’ll be back soon, halo, to make sure you fulfill your purpose.”

The angel sobs. Ketch can hear the vibrator moving in the angel’s ass. Beautiful sounds. Beautiful sight.

Ketch turns and goes to the staircase. He turns the lights off, and leaves the angel in darkness.

FOUR MONTHS LATER

Ketch is happier than he’s been in a long time. Now that he has something to look forward to, his stress levels have been way down. At least twice a day, he comes down and fucks the angel, always sure to put something back in its ass. The vibrator, an actual angel blade at times, the end of a flogger. Sometimes he stays down in the basement for hours on hours, fucking the angel, or watching a machine fuck it, carving into that skin, drinking those tears. And he certainly has a lot to be stressed about. The American hunters are a brutish bunch. All have refused to collaborate with them, and Sam and Dean were more curt than normal, until just a few weeks ago, when Dean reached out to him, asking, begging, if he had any gadget to track down angels.

Ketch smirked, knowing the angel Dean was searching for was right under his feet, currently tied to the fucking machine on its highest setting, and had been for the last twelve hours.

“Please,” Dean said. “I’ll do whatever you want, I’ll let you take whatever you want from the bunker, just — can you help us?”

Ketch smirked, sipping on fine whiskey. I already have everything I want, he thought. “Unfortunately, I don’t have any devices that can do such a thing,” he lied.

He hasn’t heard from Dean since. And Ketch would loathe that, but really, it’s probably for the best. He learned quickly that Dean is not as stupid as the rumor mill made him out to be. He would figure it out soon enough. He would take Ketch’s toy away.

Over the past few months, the basement’s furniture has expanded. His favorite new addition is the breeding bench, secured right in the center where the chain used to be. It keeps the angel’s legs spread and his torso bent over. Easy access.

The angel is still there now, tied down from when Ketch fucked him last night. Ketch goes down, flips on the light. The angel’s ass faces him. Ketch grins. The angel doesn’t react to his presence. Most of the time it just lies there now, pliant and submissive. Broken.

Ketch walks up to it and runs his fingers over the bottom of the vibrator fixed into the angel’s hole. He presses it in. A pained whine. Ketch pulls it out, and the hole is loose enough that he doesn’t bother with prep. There’s a slight burn when he pushes in, but Ketch relishes it.

“Oh, halo,” Ketch says, pushing in and in, “this never gets tiring.”

And then, Ketch is aware that someone is behind him. Something presses against the back of his head.

A voice, “You motherfuc— “

Ketch’s brains splatter everywhere. Dean doesn’t give a shit. It was too easy a death, too quick, he wants the bastard to suffer —

Cas makes a noise, and then Dean pivots. Ketch is still inside Cas. Dean has to pull him out, and then he shoves the corpse aside.

“I’m here, Cas, I’m here, hang on — “ He fingers fumble as the unbuckles Cas from the restraints, and then, Cas is free, Dean pulls him against his chest, and he shudders and sobs, Cas is alive, he’s alive, he’s alive. It takes him a moment to realize there’s still a gag, and he undoes that, throws it against the far wall. There are deep indentation marks on Cas’s face. Dean pulls Cas to his chest and they rock on the floor.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you.” Dean can’t look at the room, it will only make him angerier, so he buries his nose in Cas’s hair instead.

“Dean,” Cas says, voice hoarse. Cas squirms against his chest. “Dean, take it out, take it out, please.”

It’s then that Dean notices the silver around Cas’s dick. He’s careful, fingers barely brushing against skin as he unlocks the cage and slowly slips the sound out. There’s blood on it. Dean wonders if he could stab Ketch’s skull with it. There’s blood between Cas’s thighs, too, and his ass is bruised and Dean wants to make Ketch suffer —

Cas relaxes against his chest. Dean’s brain goes into caretaker mode. Priorities. He keeps Cas close to his chest, turned so he doesn’t see the corpse with a golf ball sized hole in its skull. They stay there for a while. Dean rubs Cas’s shoulder, peppers his temple with gentle kisses.

“You’re safe now,” he mutters. “It’s going to be okay. You’re safe now.”

“Dean.”

They wait another few minutes, until Cas has stopped shaking.

“Come on,” Dean says. “Let’s go home.”


End file.
